


We've Got a Wave in the Air

by triarii



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Exhibitionism, M/M, Trans Male Character, trans carlos is real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 12:10:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2811512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triarii/pseuds/triarii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil and Carlos do the do on air it's very scandalous you see</p>
            </blockquote>





	We've Got a Wave in the Air

**Author's Note:**

> “ok somebody write me trans!Carlos, Cecil/Carlos didn’t-realize-they-were-on-air-or-maybe-Cecil-has-a-kink-for-that-and-knew-all-along (Is that morally questionable? I’m actually positive it is, but whatever this is fanfic, fight me.)”  
> aka Arev was having a bad day and so I wrote them smutty fanfiction

Cecil is fairly certain that he should say something.

To clarify: it is probably against the Community Radio’s code of ethics to be broadcasting while one has a lap full of beautiful, perfect, squirming Carlos.

Carlos, lovely Carlos, is sucking methodical, uniformly-sized hickeys onto Cecil’s throat. Flawless, wonderful Carlos has shucked his rather snazzy date-night lab coat and is fumbling at the buttons on Cecil’s freshly-ironed hair shirt. Cecil has a hypothesis—he’s very into science these days, you see—that the temperature in the recording booth has gone up several degrees.

He should really probably say something.

A note on the previous broadcast: After a successful, city council-approved first date, Cecil received (via a puff of acrid smoke in his living room) a permit for subsequent outings, the sub-clause allowing end-of-date kisses now upgraded to “coming in for a cup of coffee” and various other euphemisms. Upon receiving the permit, they both agreed that it was their civic duty to the city of Night Vale to fully exercise the rights it granted at every opportunity.

This leads us to the current situation.

Carlos, perfect and beautiful, had taken Cecil out to lunch, driving him back to the radio station in time for Cecil to prepare for the evening broadcast. Cecil had neglected to mention that the program scheduled before his show was simply two hours of uninterrupted silence, recorded live from the empty booth.

Carlos is working on his belt buckle, and Cecil has still neglected to mention this. Night Vale’s most perfect scientist is sitting on the studio’s desk, his face only inches from the hanging microphone, the oaky tones of his moans being broadcast to every citizen of Night Vale as Cecil kneels between his legs, sucking at the skin of his thighs as he works two slick fingers into him. He can’t tell Carlos now, Cecil thinks as he sucks Carlos’s clit, his fingers curling upwards and rubbing until the scientist above him lets out a high, trembling gasp. There are  _laws_  in Night Vale, and the one governing talking with one’s mouth full is very strictly enforced.

However, he thinks, Station Management will probably not be terribly pleased with the interruption in the regular programming schedule. He gives a shudder entirely unrelated to the sight of Carlos adjusting the straps of his harness, though the sight could never, he assures himself, be considered anything but wonderful.

It’s only when the thought of Steve Carlsberg—Steve  _Carlsberg_ , mountain-believer and only occasional community radio listener—having the privilege of hearing Carlos’s luxurious voice growling in Cecil’s (and the microphone’s) ear with each thrust that Cecil forces himself to try to mention it.

That, however, is the moment that Carlos flips him over, sending him sprawling across the sound board with a particularly hard thrust of his perfect, beautiful hips. The mic emits a screech of feedback, Carlos nearly drops Cecil to the floor, and Intern Leslie knocks on the door, calling through the wood to ask Cecil if he’s in and if he’s aware that something’s gone awry with the night’s scheduled programming.

Cecil buries his face in his hands, his face flaming red and Carlos still halfway inside him, as Night Vale’s eccentric, perfect-haired scientist looks puzzled, saying that he’d assumed broadcasting their liaison had been Cecil’s intent all along—the red recording light had, after all, been on the whole time.

Nowadays, Old Woman Josie winks at them both whenever they walk by the car lot. The angels follow her, as usual, largely aloof, but Cecil thinks he sees one of them wink as well. It was the black one, if that sweetens the deal.

**Author's Note:**

> this was written like at least a year ago so like forgive any inconstancies it might have with the current canon of night vale ahaha


End file.
